You have spent the last few days on Thesa Station, taking in the knowledge that your world is no more. Perhaps you've made some friends (or maybe an enemy or two). Either way, you aren't expected to spend all of your time on the Station. El Nysa needs you, after all, and you promised you'd help the planet thrive. Are you ready?
Submit an AC-eligible thread with a new character as a participant for 2 OLYMPIA REP POINTS OR 2 WYVER REP POINTS, respectively, HERE or HERE. THESA STATION
All refugees on the station are called to the hangar where a large-scale teleporter has been set up; everyone will be sent to the planet together. Simply step onto the space between the arrays and wait. Before they depart, all new refugees will be given a starter kit!
 You may have heard about earlier technical difficulties, but don't worry. I promise everything is in perfect working order this time. I'd say I tested it myself, but since that's not exactly possible, you'll just have to trust me! (Please.)
The older refugees will also be there to guide you to ensure no one is left confused... or behind. Make sure you wait for them — I've been detecting something odd so I'll be having them meet you at the landing site. Good luck, refugees! Not that you'll be needing it or anything...
The arrays begin to hum and glow, quickly building into a brilliant wash of light. It creates a column that travels all the way from Thesa Station to the surface of El Nysa. With the night sky as a canvas, the beam can be seen all the way from Olympia and Wyver — a view that has the natives whispering of blessings.
As a sudden but beautiful aurora splays across the sky, the refugees down on the planet receive a message asking them to travel to the landing site — and warning them to prepare for what may come of the strange readings Zasere's gotten from the teleport itself.
Traveling through the light leaves the impression of blinding starlight, a strange sense of weightlessness, and a disorienting moment of total sensory deprivation. The radiance of your teleport hangs bright in the sky above you, a shimmering aurora that reflects off the calm waters below, visible for miles all around.
You've landed on a peninsula to the east of the South Outpost. There's little here — scattered trees on spring-barren plains, with a few overgrown, dilapidated structures poking out of the brush. All is quiet save for the keening of animals and the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. This lonely desolation is hardly the bustling cities and vibrant cultures you were promised back on the station...
BY CAMPFIRE'S GLOW. But waiting for you is a group of your predecessors, and with them, a veritable tent city, with portable stoves, coolers of food and drink, comfortable bedrolls, and cheerful rings of bonfires — all that you need to make merry of the night, courtesy of Overseer Voss, who has, thanks to his interest in blessed meteorological phenomena and refugees, decided to make a holy expedition of the affair.
Settle in, meet new comrades, and enjoy yourself, for you've safely completed your journey. But don't wander too far from the fires — the dark is closing in, and there's a strange, electric feeling in the air, the scent of ozone drifting on the breeze. And what were those odd readings Zasere mentioned?
A SHEPHERD OVER THE FLOCK. The spring sun dawns on a grey morning, already burning away the fog rolling in off the sea. It quickly becomes apparent that Voss and his entourage of acolytes have been up for hours, hard at work. They've set up a brightly-draped stage and a travel pulpit, magically enchanted to amplify his voice, and as the sun breaks over the horizon, Voss is all set to do what he does best: proselytize.
 As our Goddess has sent Her blessing once before to herald the coming of those touched by Her light, so She has done once again! Here you see them, those surrounded by the light of our Goddess, each of them bearing the mark upon their skin of Her holiest of hands! Do you not see? Do none among you bear witness to the righteousness of Her message? Perhaps this is why our people have shamed themselves in front of our Goddess—
[ He continues for another 15 minutes... ]
Nevertheless. See you them before us now! See them as they are, coming to our gates with Her reminder, that these people must be treated with the utmost respect and care. Thesa's divinity is not to be treated with such flagrant disregard! Those who She chooses are not ours to use as mindless fodder, to hurt, to torture — shame upon those who allowed such deeds to shame us under Her watchful gaze!
To those of you who have just arrived here on our doorstep, be not afraid! The Temples of Thesa welcome you to our home with hearts and minds open! Should you ever find yourself in need of solace, seek out the Temples, as there are no greater allies to you than those of us within the Temple walls. You are welcome all to Olympia!
As he steps away from the enchanted podium, he can be heard saying aside to an acolyte, "How was that? Heavy on the shame, but I think it went well!" While he will not leave the area immediately, his acolytes will politely turn away attempts to speak with him and remind anyone interested that they can leave a message at the Temples.
Despite going off without hitch, the new refugees' arrival isn't entirely without incident. It seems that the "blessed" beam of light that brought the refugees down to El Nysa brought something else along with it — a sliver of the Storm. At least the beam was short enough that only a small fraction managed to squeeze through.
But it's enough to wreak a little havoc around the landing site and along the road back toward Olympia and Wyver — and even, for a few days, in the cities themselves.
THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE. The Storm is an undeniably destructive force, and that's proven with this small sliver's effect as it ripples across the continent. While there's no visible sign of its presence, strange phenomena soon begin to appear, corresponding with Zasere's odd readings.
They're innocuous little things at first. A sudden silence, animals going quiet, insects stilling. All technology, no matter how advanced, ceases working. You discover when you check with a friend, the clock on your phone is twelve minutes slow even though you'd swear only a minute had passed — time missing. Walking through the woods takes longer than it should when brushing past one bush leads to brushing past that same bush again — and again, and again, the area looping on itself. It keeps you trapped, going in circles for minutes, even hours, before finally releasing you in a random direction.
Or perhaps you'll feel a sense of deja vu, like you've walked down this road, taken this turn, seen that bird fly from this branch before. This is the second time that cat has crossed your path. The person you're meeting, you already know their name; you're certain you've already met.
WE GOT COWS. The Storm sliver also ushers in sudden, localized weather anomalies — heavy storms, blizzards, strong winds, and more. Affected areas range from just a few feet wide to nearly half a mile. One minute, the sky may be sunny and clear, but the next dark storm clouds roll in, unleashing torrential rain. Small tornadoes surge along the road, kicking up winds strong enough to knock people over and carry objects away. Hail hurtles down from the sky, but only in a ten foot radius. Temperatures fluctuate wildly between one extreme and the next, from heat waves to cold snaps. Soupy fog blankets the area, thick enough that you can barely see your hand in front of your face. Good luck finding your way!
FORGETTING IS SO LONG. The visions come on suddenly and with very little warning. One second, you're carrying on as normal — but the next, you blink and find yourself (and anyone near you) somewhere else completely. You may recognize this place as a moment from the past, one that you lived through. It's a memory, your memory, and it now replays around you in exceptional detail, unnervingly lifelike. Or you may not recognize it at all. It might belong to the person next to you, or to someone else entirely — a memory that the Storm has swallowed up.
Either way, the scene plays out just as it once did, and there's nothing you can do to stop it — or escape it. The memory surrounds you to no end: every door you open leads nowhere, every hallway you turn down continues on forever, every horizon you flee toward hangs just out of reach. And linger too long or turn the wrong corner, and you may find yourself abruptly stuck in a completely different memory. It's almost tempting, then, to give up, to let the past sweep you away...
But this isn't the full might of the Storm. Look closely, and you can see that in the walls of this trap, there are minute, hairline cracks, a facade of fractured glass. Imperfections in the memory where the real world is breaking through. It seems the only way to escape these memories is to find those cracks and break through them — by force, by will, or by some other method entirely.
The time is coming to make a choice — perhaps not a permanent choice, but unless you want to spend the rest of your nights out under the stars, you'll need to pick which city you will initially spend your time in. On the horizon, you will see that people have arrived to help you make that decision...
A FORK IN THE ROAD. Refugees and the hyper-religious wishing to hear Voss speak are not the only ones out and about under the light of the aurora. Citizens of both Olympia and Wyver have flocked to a point on the road midway between the cities and where the refugees have appeared, and they all have the same goal in mind: convincing the newcomers who have just descended in the blessed light of Thesa to come to their city and not the other.
They've come with bribes — that is, examples of what their cities have to offer. If you spent much time at the exhibition up on Thesa Station, you might recognize some of what's being shown off, though the offerings here are markedly more tangible, and shown off by hawkers wearing substantially fewer clothes.
A herd of pegasi accompanies the Olympians, while a line of flying serpents is stabled at a tent bearing Wyver colors. Refugees are given the chance to experience solo flights and are told that if they prove their loyalty, they may have the privilege of owning such fine beasts one day themselves. The Olympians have also brought couture clothing, jewelry, and makeup to offer a taste of Olympian splendor, while the Wyver delegation has brought along fine weapons, sense-enhancing jungle plants, and small vials of diluted dragon’s blood (drinking confers a temporary boost in strength) to demonstrate their might. The Olympians speak proudly of the glory of the Temples of Thesa; the Wyverns speak of the Volkkran Pact and inform newcomers that they can make a pilgrimage to the summit of Namarak Mountain at the next full moon.
This is as good a time as any to compare your plans with others around you and exchange contact information before going your separate ways with people who are going to the city you are not. When you’re ready to go, don’t worry about safe passage — the natives of each city will gladly escort you there in luxury.
OF WHITE AND GOLD. The people of Olympia are ecstatic that you’ve come to join them... So much so that they’ve prepared a grand tour of the city for the new arrivals. You will be introduced to the major businesses in the city, including businesses that they are proud to point out were founded by refugees.
Refugees who have been here for some time already are encouraged to pair up with newcomers to introduce them to the parts of the city they like best. To facilitate this, they’ve made arrangements with many of the business owners: new refugees who visit their shops (and older refugees who escort them) are given discounts!
Just a few examples of many: the Wyvernest offers free desserts to first time visitors with the purchase of a drink, refugees who visit the Silk Wyrms can have one custom (though not exceedingly expensive) outfit made for them for free, and visitors to Shades Darker are offered a half-hour session with one of the prostitutes at half price… or access to a private room, if they seem to have taken a shine to one of their companions on the tour.
Lastly, tour guides will point out that over the course of the next week, the train to Flona Cove will allow new refugees to board for free so that they can experience the seaside for themselves. With the weather finally starting to warm, this is as good a time as any for a visit to the beach, isn’t it?
OF RED AND BLACK. Life in Wyver is typically a sink-or-swim sort of experience — but in light of the valor recently displayed by their predecessors, the natives are now more willing to assist in getting newcomers settled. The entire journey here they have been talking up the virtues of their city… and now is the time to show everything that's on offer.
The well-known businesses in the city are prepared for the influx of newcomers. Some are giving out discounted samples of their products while others are offering a more hands-on experience: in exchange for working a few hours, they will give training in whatever task is being performed.
At the Forged, newcomers can learn the basics of crafting simple weapons (and take one of their successes home), while visitors to spas near the lagoons are trained in the art of massage. Those who wander to Falmi’s Ring can learn the art of pugilism or how to keep (and fix) books if they're more inclined to the gambling that goes on. Newcomers interested in Wyver's dragons can get hands-on experience at the Fields of the Exalted's nursery. While they walk from place to place, a guide may point out a job posting from Highwind Hires, noting that refugees can make a name for themselves outside official channels.
The last stop on the tour is the Undergrowth. The guides speak of the jungle in reverent tones and caution new refugees not to wander too far in. They warn never to explore alone, but also urge refugees to take time to familiarize themselves with it; after all, the jungle is an important part of life in Wyver, and those who are going to be living here should understand it as well as they do.
You've chosen your path, refugee, but that doesn't necessarily make it a permanent one. Watch out for the strange effects of the Storm, which linger still in the two cities and everywhere in between for the next few days before dissipating just as mysteriously as they came, but otherwise enjoy the welcome and make yourself at home — after all, this is home now.
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red | transistor
[ It's the silence that tips her off — because before it's a happy coincidence it's also a technique, used for dramatic effect. To suddenly raise tension, amplify unease. The dramatic pause before the music starts again.
But in this case, the silence comes ... but never quite leaves; no moment comes for her to relax again, or take a breath. The strangest part is, nature isn't supposed to do that ( or, based on what she knows of nature ). Her head turns, lips thinned. There's little hesitation when she reaches out for a passerby to tap them on the shoulder. And before they can get a word out, she holds up a finger to them. Wait.
Their patience, should they choose to exercise it, is rewarded. She quickly turns a phone screen towards them, a typed-out message prepared to be read. ]
Your name. What is it?
TWO. FORGETTING IS SO LONG. ( CLOSED TO OLD CR. )
[ A) it starts inconspicuous, at first; a bar, with most of its patrons keeping it to their own tables. At the corner of the establishment is a redhead, the mic to her lips and a guitar in her hand, as she sings. The occasional person turns to watch her, until the view disappears, and —
The light comes from beyond the curtains, this time. Up ahead is a stage, beautifully decorated and entirely filled by a single individual ( unsurprisingly, it's the same redhead ). The silence fills with the same guitar again, and she's singing the same melody. This time, the crowd ( barely seen from backstage, but there nonetheless ) seems entranced by her music.
( The singer on the stage also stands behind the curtains, along with whoever is also watching this memory. Unlike the one performing, this one's eyes are cold. )
B) It's the same stage as before — except a glitch-like white has replaced parts of the floor, and the woman no longer stands at the mic. In her hand is a glowing sword — and at her feet is a ... being. What looks to be a mere shadow of a human, its entire body black except for a brilliantly white head. Slowly using its arms to crawl towards Red, while she watches. There's barely any movement from Red herself ( a voice, from the sword, asks What now? ), until she turns the sword in her hand, and she —
Strikes the ... thing on the ground with little hesitation. It cries out in pain, as if it's human ( maybe it was, once ). As it fades away, a distorted voice speaks, relieved, Finally, finally, finally we can be....
The scene darkens, until they're back on the road once more. Red seems to be looking at where the figure was — jaw tense, hands curled into fists at her sides. Anger radiating off of her frame. ]
THREE. WHITE AND GOLD.
[ And finally: the obligatory beach episode. Because the sun is shining, and a certain someone wanted to — not that he's around, at the moment. At the same time, that doesn't mean she's alone, either; no more than a few feet from her is a robotic canine, eyeless with a floating head, as it sniffs along the sand. When it barks, there's a machine-like, static-clinging sound to it. Red seems more than content to simply watch.
Until its — her — ears ( "ears" ) perk up, and suddenly, her snout points directly at anyone watching this happen. She barks once more, before easily leaving Red's side to close the distance between her and them, before starting to sniff at their feet. Once they seem to pass some kind of test, she grabs a stick sticking out from the sand, and drops it down at their foot. Play?
( If they were to look up, they'd see a redhead with her lips threatening to curl up. A nod at the stick, if they haven't gotten the hint yet. Don't disappoint her dog, now. ) ]
WILDCARD.
( the usual — if none of these prompts interest you, then hit me up with a wildcard! or find me at
2a
This doesn't seem like one of those times. Unlike Red, JJ's eyes are bright as he watches the performance, as entranced by the music as the crowd past the stage even if he can't see as clearly from backstage. Red is a sight to behold even when she's not performing, but right not the most breathtaking part of her isn't her looks. It's her music; her voice and talent.
JJ would be envious if he were the type, but instead he's only excited by it, elated that there's someone close to him with such skill that him and his greedy hands can learn from.
Red is tense from where she's watching the memory unfold, but JJ is all bright eyes and eager attitude as he steps next to her, one finger poking politely at the whorl in her hair. ]
This memory business is kind of invasive, but it's a treat to actually hear you sing. [ Completely tone deaf, he nudges her. ] It's motivating you to work even harder to get your voice back, eh?
no subject
But to have something one holds so dear ripped away — her jaw tenses, briefly, when her audience speaks to her. Memory or otherwise, it's not a great sight to see ( not anymore ). To get her voice back is to study the Transistor — which can only be done when Boxer's entire existence is put out into the open. She can't jeopardize him like that, not for ... this. For something she won't get back anyway.
So — she shrugs. The most non-committal answer she could possibly give, at the moment. Her lips thin as the song comes to a close, and the crowd erupts in thunderous applause ( resists the urge to hum along to the songs she poured her soul into ).
The song changes. The crowd doesn't quiet. The Red on stage continues to sing, while the Red behind the curtains grabs JJ's arm instinctively ( she knows how this ends, and it's not pretty ). Her tugs getting forceful when the first shout comes from the audience. Time to leave. ]
no subject
In any case, JJ doesn't expect to be yanked suddenly away, but he follows along with her incessant tugs, stumbling slightly as he hurries to follow her lead. The scene goes quickly from heartwarming and inspiring to something more unnerving. He can't tell what it is, maybe the shout from the crowd, maybe the way she's pulling him away like there's something to be worried about.
Or maybe she's just eager to find a way out of the memory, JJ's never been particularly good at reading the atmosphere. ]
What's wrong? Where are we going?
idr if you hate captcha lemme know if you want it moved
It's so easy to remember her confusion from the night. The nagging feeling that something isn't right quickly turning into a pit in her stomach, the way her notes fade the moment she realizes that the crowd isn't just watching her perform. About now, the instrumentals continue ringing in the theater, but there's no voice accompanying it. The shouts get louder, more desperate, violent. Fear ripples in the audience, quickly worming its way over to the stage, and —
( "When an altercation finally erupted in the crowd during one of her performances, it was the first such incident in four years." )
She thinks she can hear Boxer's shouts from the other side of the stage, as she leads JJ to the back. Down ornately decorated hallways, past a half-open door with racks of dresses, a vanity mirror. Straight out into the fresh air, hopefully, where the nightmare hopefully ends.
No time to answer, not yet ( hopefully not any time soon, but she knows that's not how this works ). ]
(no subject)
2b (or not 2b)
Until now.
The rage is the first thing that hits him, a tension he hasn't felt in quite some time. It feels intrusive to stand there, especially once the face of the woman registers, but there's no option left to him but stay there and watch in silence as Red strikes down the creature before her. But the most disturbing part comes after, as a new voice enters his ears and echoes and echoes and echoes.
He doesn't speak until after the stage vanishes, and even then his voice remains strained. ]
What was—that?
[ Who? ]
no subject
Something claws at her from the inside, desperately willing her to move. Run. Her chest feels tight and she feels queasy, the urge to scream growing with every second ( not unlike last time, then ). Except she wills all of that down. Left with hands curled into fists at her sides, her teeth clenched as she inhales, then exhales. The inhales again.
Frederick shouldn't have to see this ( he shouldn't see this, period. That wasn't him, and she's starting to like the Storm even less in the beginning ). The question cuts through the silence and she briefly contemplates leaving again — this time, she chooses to run a hand through her hair. Letting out the breath she had been holding.
And once the hammering in her heart finally slows some, she finally — finally — reaches for her phone. For how short the message is, she takes a suspiciously long time ( typing, then erasing, typing, then erasing, until she finds the best description she can come with ). She turns the phone to Frederick, but she's not keen on meeting his gaze just yet. ]
Someone I used to know. [ Unfortunately. ] We're not friends anymore. [ Obviously. ]
no subject
Or perhaps if she's not homesick at all, if an encounter with someone she used to know would turn out like this. He frowns as he reads the message on the screen, expression darkening at the vague explanation. Actually, he's realizing he doesn't know much about Red at all, despite how many conversations they've had thus far.
And yet he still wishes to know more about her, the events that have brought her to this point. He hesitates a moment, then asks: ]
Do you regret the way things turned out?
[ He doesn't feel as though he has the privilege of asking what happened, not just yet. ]
no subject
The state of her relationship with Sybil is complicated; the reason that Red has decided not to bring it up, ever, is because it's something that she doesn't want to consider. She's no coward, running away isn't a tactic she employs — and this isn't running away, either. Not really. There's just no use in worrying herself over it when there's no way to actually deal with it.
Sybil's in the pod, after all. Red has checked already ( and again, and again— ).
So — does she regret what she happened? She stares back at her screen again, words coming to her slower than ever. Red isn't a liar, and she's not fond of being one any time soon. ]
I think it might be a little late for that. [ In all honesty. Regardless of what happened, she didn't get much of a say in it.
Below that: ] I don't. [ She can't. ]
(no subject)
writing an angst thread to that icon is kind of beautiful tbh
yeah i really thought it would help the mood
it was gr8, ty
i had more written and then dw ate it and i'm too tired to remember it all
it's fine this is just as horrific
i'm glad they've both suffered so much
red & fred's no good very bad day
ok wraps this up so we can start fresh, ty for suffering with me jaybo
wildcard.
Boxer? He's the only one that Clair recognizes. But this doesn't feel right. She looks down at her elaborate yellow dress (hers?), her body—not her own. (But hers.) Her hair—red. (As it's always been.)
The group of people (the Camerata) across from her are speaking in heated tones about the Process, the Transistor—their words wash over her dizzyingly, making no sense and yet complete sense in intervals. She feels... anger and resistance, though she doesn't know where it comes from.
Then it all seems to happen so fast—that sword she recognizes too, flying towards her. Boxer shoves her out of the way and takes the blow instead, and her heart—seizes. Shatters into a million fractured pieces. She's never felt—so—
Now she's somewhere else. Outside, over water, the breeze tugging at her (now blonde) hair. Her pulse is racing. She feels like she can barely breathe. ]
What on earth...?
i'm so late, i'm sorry
( It's hard to miss a place that tried to kill you. )
She's not sure if it's better or worse that she's not alone. Red's just turned the corner, watching her come face-to-face with Boxer crumpled by the alleyway. Teeth clenched, her hand balled up into a fist at her sides. She hears Boxer's relieved voice, the self-deprecation that comes easily to him.
Then she realizes that she's not alone.
Her head whips around — eyes wide as she comes face-to-face with Clair, standing where she ( not Red, but the memory of her ) had originally stood. Her face hardens immediately.
There's no time to pull her phone out, here; but there's nowhere to go, either. Just to keep watching the horror unfold while they wait for the storm to take them to anywhere but here. Her lips press into a thin line — there's nothing she can do, here, to prevent this from happening. She hates it. ]
i'm never tagging you again
Red...?
[ If she's here, then... is this her memory? Her head still spinning, Clair starts walking closer to Red—and finally notices the figure slumped against the wall, half in shadow and eerily still, the large blue sword she recognizes well jutting out perpendicular to his body. Then—Boxer's familiar voice, the sword pulsing with light in time to the cadence of it. ]
What is happening?
[ She turns her gaze back to Red, beseeching. Her heart tells her that Boxer is—that something is very wrong, something irreparable, but she doesn't want to believe it. ]
weeps
She realizes that Clair deserves some kind of explanation — she isn't so heartless to leave her with nothing, after ... all of this. The Camerata, the Transistor, the fate of a certain individual slumped against the wall. Maybe not the full story ( she's not sure if she'll ever choose to recount the full story, if she can help it ), but this. At least this. What a awful, terrifying concept.
( Oh...Look at you. You're alive. Me, I'm not so sure. )
Once Clair gets close enough, Red reaches for her wrist. Loose enough for her to break away, if she wants, but with enough certainty that the tug means something. They don't need to keep watching this — she knows how it ends, and it's not something she's keen on watching a second time.
So, she tugs on Clair's wrist. Nods to a separate alleyway. Let's just ... go ( please ). ]
The truth
Either way, not fun, and she'd take strange demons and lyrium ghosts over this sort of thing any day. A tap on the shoulder gets her attention. Oh, a pretty red head, that's definitely going to grab her attention. Then the other woman pauses and gestures to her phone. Hawke squints at it, still not quite used to technology, before replying.]
Hawke. Yes, like the bird but with an e. Just to get that out of the way.
sorry for the delay on this!!
Red nods. Turns the phone back so that she could type a message back. ]
Do you know mine? [ Is it the place that's doing this — the silence, the strange sense of deja-vu — or has she officially lost it? ]
right back at you!
Strange.]
I... don't. And yet I feel like I've met you before. But I'd remember a woman like you, believe me. I don't usually have this problem.
continues being slow forever, i'm sorry again
▼ closed to richie.
It's strange, to see it all go down from this end, a spectator. Detached, watching the mirror-image confrontation play out in the theater, like some kind of stage show. All memorized lines and pitch-perfect timing. Forgetting Richie, for a stark and selfish moment, his hand gropes for Red's. Pulling her insistently away from the stage, and what's about to happen upon it. (On one end, the eerie mirror-image of the two of them. On the other, closer to the three of them watching from the present, is the Camerata. Asher, and Royce, and Grant, and Sybil. Cornering Red on the stage. And him, just seconds from getting in between them.)
But it happens just as quick, the second time around. And whether he likes it or not, it plays out just the same way. (Asher points out to Sybil that she'd told them Red would be alone. Grant spews some self-righteous nonsense about what needs to be done for the good of Cloudbank. Red stands defiant, and soon—)
Not much time. He tugs Red back again, imploring. They know how this ends. They don't have to stick around to watch it.]
Hey.
[Urgent, if hushed, as if the players on stage have any chance of hearing them. He swallows, keeps his voice steady and fingers locked through Red's, looks Richie head-on for a second before locking back toward Red, as if daring him to voice a premature what the fuck—]
Lets just...go.
[Please.]
tagging this now is a mistake yet here we are
It's a reminder that this place has nothing for her. Not anymore. Not after this.
She reaches for Boxer's hand the same time he reaches for her's, as if to remind herself of what is real. She hears Boxer's voice, from further away — right on the stage, in fact — and then her's, tense and angry. Both of their eyes on Sybil, who watches, impassive. She only shakes herself out of staring when she feels the tug on her hand. The voice, closer this time, asking her just what she'd expect — to leave. She knows that neither of them need to see this again. Richie doesn't need to see this ever.
So, Red reaches for Richie's wrist; to tug him back, as if it's a chain. Just as Grant raises the glowing weapon in his hand to throw it across the room, just as Boxer on stage pushes the Red on stage back, just as the Transistor meets Boxer's torso, seems to slide in, as if its a knife cutting through butter—
Then, nothing.
She braces herself for what's coming up next — what she isn't prepared for is having the light of the building behind her. To see the familiar but definitely not welcome glow of the Transistor right in front of her. Boxer's dead body. She flinches ( more of a reaction than the first time ), backwards as if it's like a sucker punch to the gut — just as a static voice fills the rest of the silence.
"Red, where are you? Where are you, where are you... Don't be gone, please don't be gone, I can't—
The hand holding Boxer's tightens. Not again, not again, not again— ]
JOKES ON YOU i won't get to it until four days later
At the moment, it's playing fast and loose with secrets. Laying 'em all bare with no warning and no permissions asked. When he's jolted up and around and finds himself on the stage of some glizty affair, red curtains and Blade Runner glow from the architecture, lights built into the Art Nouveau facades, he has to cast around for an anchor. He finds it in the twinned forms of Red and Boxer, one pair at his side while their doppelgangers are harried by a quartet of slickly dressed aristocrats. He can smell the money off of them in way they hold their backs in proud lines, the haughty sneers, the way they speak.
She was supposed to be alone. For the greater good of Cloudbank.
The sword is in the wrong hands. And suddenly, Richie knows exactly when they are. Boxer's giving him a pointy look but buddy oh pal, he knows when to clam up and if there ever was a time, this must be it. He nods. Red's grabbing his wrist and yanking like he's an unruly child (if they can't find the fissure quick enough she might found out exactly how much), the white haired bitch on stage is eyeballing the past couple like they're dirt under her shoe (did they expect to leave), and the eldest man raises the microchip wonder blade, and Richie finds his head unable to turn, his eyes growing wider with horror instead of closing with prudence.]
No—
[But voiceless gasps from the future can't change the past. The sword flings.
He does shut his eyes then, turn away with his free hand clapping to his mouth as his heart thunders in the tight cage of his chest. He can hear it squelch, cut a nest for itself into that steady gut.
Then there's a flash of darkness. They're outside now, like someone spliced together the film edit wrong and cropped two scenes together that never should have met. But there's old Boxy, sitting heavy on the alley ground with a blade of how many feet standing proud in his middle like the angled hand of a clock. Time's up!
Richie can feel Red flinch next to him. Sees the old Red standing at the foot of the corpse, devasted and still as a marble statue. And Boxer's gone, not even a twitch, just the down-turned crown of his head and the arms splayed to the sides, open palmed. It looks so like a religious tableau.
His throat has thickened. The present man is standing with him, but he's looking at something too hypnotic to face reality. The sight suctions him in, draws the water from his eyes in two streams out of the corners, glimmering blue and green in the alien light of the electric avenue.]
Oh god...oh shit...
[Then the voice crackles in. The sword lights up with each sound, like a pulsing line of a heart monitor. But Boxer's mouth isn't moving.
'Course it won't.
Richie steps loose of the pair. Inching towards the wreckage of their past. He sinks to his knees, staring at the corpse. The sword. The girl.
"Don't be gone, please don't be gone, I can't—"
He looks back to them, helpless and horrified. He looks rather like a child in the moment, wide-eyed and stunned silent. He wants to say sorry but the words have jumped ship. There's nothing he could possibly do.]
update: richie is cancelled before we even get to clown town, bye
update: thread is cancelled because i took a million years, sorry
no fuck you i'm wedging my clown meta in if it's the last thing i do
the truth.
still, even he can definitely tell something is wrong. in fact it's even more eerie when you have hearing that can detect tiny footsteps of an animal through the soft, well worn forest floor. he is paused, head tilted as he listens, looking like he's trying to find a piece to a puzzle and bemused by the lack of options.
the only noise is the tap on his shoulder, and he's so thoroughly not expecting it that he startles, even with the limited warning his spider-senses give him. he bolts hands into the air like she's got him at gunpoint, before relaxing, looking apologetic, and waiting at her indication until she turns the message his way. ) What? ( he asks, even though that doesn't answer her question. despite the odd way it is relayed, he can handle it. ) Uh... it's Peter.
let me know if this isn't okay!
The worst thing about gut feelings is that they're impossible to explain. But while expecting a sudden reaction is one thing, finding a stranger's name obvious is another matter entirely. She can't explain it ( is he really a stranger? ), let alone attempt to understand why—
Red turns her phone back to her, typing out a single word for him to read. ]
Parker? [ The point of strangers is that they weren't supposed to meet each other before. ]
feel free to let this go if i am too late! april destroyed me
Uh... yeah. Have we met?
( he's slightly sidetracked from oddness of one situation to another, though the eerie silence is far from forgotten. the fact his company has not broken it almost makes his surroundings seem even more silent. )
no worries!! it killed me p bad too, attempts to pick it back up now
WE CAN DO THIS
update: catching up was harder than expected
3
A robot? Never thought I'd see one down here ... [ Before arriving in Thesa, he's never even seen a robot in his life. He's from 1999. While Rohan does try to feel the dog's sides, he isn't actually 'petting' her, because he's more touching this dog to satisfy his own curiosity than trying to interact with it. He then tries to put his hand in the space between its head and its body to see if there's anything holding that head up. ]
How does its head stay afloat?
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Which has Red catching up pretty quickly, eyebrows furrowed, until — ah. Well. Maybe her reaction is a little warranted. She's careful to keep a neutral enough expression, careful not to show her thoughts on his question — but she does pull her phone out, tapping at the screens.
It's hard to tell if she's offended or not when she turns the screen for him to read ( Luna quiets, eventually, but her body somehow looks more tense than before. Somehow. ). ] A little rude for a first meeting, don't you think?
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Haha. Can you even feel that, or are you just programmed to hate it? [ If he knows the dog hates it, at least look a little sorry -- Nah.
While he had no interest in the dog's owner, he does acknowledge that she has quite a beautiful aesthetic to her, in terms the colours of her clothes and hair. It's still not enough to make him even an ounce nicer, though. He squints at the words, catching on quickly that she cannot speak, but that doesn't affect the way he regards her at all. ]
If there's something I've never seen before just coming up to me, I'm obviously going to try to investigate it.